


heartstealer.

by shishiswordsman



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Different Devil Fruit Monkey D. Luffy, Different Devil Fruit Trafalgar Law, Gen, M/M, No Posting Schedule We Die Like Men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-12-27 02:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishiswordsman/pseuds/shishiswordsman
Summary: In a different universe, Trafalgar Law does not eat the Ope Ope no Mi. In fact, he doesn't eat a devil fruit at all—not until he's seventeen, and the Mero Mero no Mi is shoved down his throat.[devil fruit swap fic, based onsmartie's devil fruit swap au]





	1. stone cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smartie_ya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smartie_ya/gifts).

> some info for the start so you're not super confused: this is a fantastic au that smartie thought up and agreed to let me write for. in it, law gets the mero mero no mi, and doflamingo has moria's df, so shadows all around

It’s dark, in the infirmary. Law doesn’t like it.

He didn’t — _ doesn’t — _fear the dark, but it’s hard to feel safe when he’s been surrounded by it for so long.

He’s sitting in the cot of the Polar Tang’s infirmary. He knows this even without opening his eyes, because the smells surrounding him are familiar, comforting. Disinfectant and sterile equipment, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments. It smells like home, does wonders to ward away the nightmares of the past few weeks.

The Polar Tang’s infirmary is dark, lit dimly by only a sole lamp that shines above the doorway, and the darkness is equal parts soothing and a thing to fear. 

_ (Shadows, dark and deep, like a swamp he’s slowly sinking into. His shadow, pulled from his body, the phantom pains like a lost limb. Doflamingo’s smirk, his laugh. The looks on his zombies’ faces as they did his bidding, holding Law in place so their master can tear into him with words and violence.) _

Law hears himself groan, the sound too loud for the silent space. Only a few hours have passed his crew found him, dying and delirious at the bottom of the fishing boat he’d used to escape. Law barely remembers a second of what followed, much like he can barely remember anything that preceded his rescue. They come to him in flashes, the memories; the coldness of the cell against his bare skin, light glinting off Doflamingo’s shades, and just the general state of being scared shitless during every waking moment.

_ (A choice, all but made for him. His shadow, returned at a cost. Join my crew. Eat this fruit or walk into the sun, Doflamingo had said to him, and he had nodded, weakened by weeks of isolation and darkness. The sour taste of the fruit on his tongue, acrid, hard to swallow. The lump in his throat it left behind was even harder to force down his throat. It still feels like it’s there.) _

Law’s groggy, his brain still worn by dehydration and the sheer mind-fuck of it all. He rubs the bridge of his nose. This is all so damn weird. He doubts his crew knows he’s woken, yet, and is glad about it. He needs space, needs time to think. At least, he _ thinks _ he needs time to think.

_ (No one will find you, Trebol tells him, on the rare occasions when he stops by to toss him some bread and water. Your crew isn’t coming, you’ll die here, he’d say. Over time, Law started to believe him.) _

Moments pass in silence, time and thought thick as treacle as Law breathes, ignoring them both. Eventually, the door creaks open, a sliver of light shining into the room.

Penguin’s voice calls out.

“Boss?”

They say that word like it means something; like a mantle of honour; like a title he has earned. He’s seventeen, doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time. They still call him boss. They’ve sailed the seas with him for four years, now, and they’re still here.

Law blinks. By the seas, he can’t wait to fucking slaughter Doflamingo and the people who burned down his home, because he’s pretty sure that shouldn't be such a shock to him.

“Yeah,” Law calls back. “I’m awake.”

He hears Penguin’s rush of breath, followed by hurried footsteps. Penguin emerges by his bedside, face flushed, hair tousled. He stands there for a handful of seconds, simply staring at his dishevelled captain. Law’s just about to ask him whether he’s tragically lost his ability to form words and sentences when Penguin lurches forward, pulling Law into a hug.

“Boss,” he gasps, relief audible. “Where were you? We were looking, we…”

“Doflamingo had me.” The words almost get stuck on his throat, but Law persists, speaking stiffly, “I escaped.”

“Well, yeah.” Penguin exhales, slowly. When Law looks at him, there’s an unsure look on his face. He’s still, waiting for Law to make the first move.

Law holds out his hand, and Penguin takes his it, awkwardly at first before enveloping Law in a careful hug, emboldened by his acquiescence. "Good to have you back, Boss. We were… we were looking for you the whole time."

Law nods, pulling away from the embrace. It's jarring, being back home. "I knew you were."

“We’re underwater,” Penguin tells him next. It calms Law far more than it should.

"Good," is all he says. He rubs his temples, groaning.

Penguin clears his throat, the tenseness surrounding his captain mollifying what would usually be a rambunctious reunion. "I'll, uh — I'll go get the others."

The others must have waited close by, because Law has very little time to compose both himself and some explanation that doesn't delve too far into truth. He feels like he blinks, and then Bepo, Shachi and Penguin all barrel into the room, followed by Uni and Ikkaku.

"Captain!" they cheer, tears in their eyes. Law’s hugged, patted on the shoulder, his hair is ruffled. He’s welcomed back to the crew, and it feels like he never left.

“Are you okay?” Bepo asks, others chorusing their own queries.

Law shrugs off their questions, his mind a blur. He has even less impulse control than he has answers, and at his glare, the mink lowers his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Law immediately regrets not reigning in his ire. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, the words riding out with a heaving sigh. “I don’t mean to… I’m…”

“You’re tired,” Penguin says, leaving no room for arguments.

“Yeah. How long was I—?”

“Two weeks.”

Two weeks. _ Two weeks. _

It’s hard to believe that when Law’s been convinced it was closer to two years.

He sighs. “Thanks for coming to get me, then.”

“Is he going to come after us, now? Doflamingo?” Bepo asks, voice far smaller than is befitting for his stature. It makes something tighten in Law’s throat, and the teenager reaches out for his first mate, tugging his paw into his lap. He strokes his hand through the white fur, gathering his thoughts.

“He will,” he says, eventually. “He’ll be pissed. We’ll have to lay low for a while.”

His crew doesn’t question their captain’s order, and bit by bit, Law relaxes. Ikkaku brings in tea and rice, and they have lunch together, right there in the infirmary. His crew tell him silly stories about things he’s missed — Bepo tried to work as the crew’s doctor in Law’s absence, and it hadn’t gone well. Ikkaku and Uni bribed a low-level Donquixote pirate into giving them Law’s location by promising to show him nude pictures of Ikkaku. When he hadn’t complied, they’d threatened him by showing him the weird wart on Uni’s heel, instead. That had worked much better.

Law laughs, rolls his eyes, pretends like everything is normal and nothing hurts. It works for a while.

He takes off his shirt so Ikkaku and Bepo can help him change his bandages. He’s almost scared to see the proof of the past five days, the marks left on him by Doflamingo’s minions. But the cuts and burns are fading, and Law’s relieved to see most of the bruising has begun to fade, yellowing edges spelling a quick recovery.

When he closes his eyes, he can see the maddened eyes of the zombie that had held him back while Doflamingo offered him the choice.

_ Don’t think about it. Think about something else. _

His bangs — they’re getting too long, they’ll need a trim soon, and they’re a distraction as good as any — fall on his eyes, and he runs a hand through them before tugging his hat deep on his head. He purses his lips without thinking too much about it, looks up to see Penguin staring.

Law smirks. “Eyes up here, Penguin-ya.”

Penguin startles, blushes. “Yeah, my bad.”

Law’s about to shake his head, perhaps ask about their course, chart their next move.

He doesn’t get the chance, because something happens, then.

Uni points to Law’s hand, his normally sleepy eyes widening in wonder. “Captain, what is that?”

There’s a lingering, tingling warmth at the core of Law’s hand, in the centre of his chest, sitting firmly on both his solar plexus and his palm. When he looks down, he sees light.

“What’s going on, Boss?” Penguin asks, and he sounds wary. Behind him, Shachi takes a step back.

Law’s mesmerised by the strands of light that seem to orbit his hands, so much so that he kind of forgets to question it.

“He was going to take my shadow, but then he gave it back. I don't know why. Guess he thought I actually wanted to join him.” The words crumble as they roll off his tongue; like dry leaves crushed in a mortar.

“What’s that, then?” Ikkaku questions, worried.

“He fed me something. A devil fruit, I think,” Law hears himself say. He stares at his hand, the pink swirls of energy entwining, twirling, twisting — endless streams without explanation.

“Is that your ability? What does it do?” Penguin asks. Where everyone else is looking at Law’s hand, Penguin’s looking higher, to the sharp curve of Law’s clenched jaw.

The light deepens, grows darker.

“I don’t know,” Law says, honest. Doflamingo never bothered to name the fruit he’d forced into his mouth. Law doubts he himself knew what it was called, or what it was capable of.

The light, as though keyed by his ire, flickers. Ikkaku takes a few steps back, joining Shachi.

“Can you stop? If we don’t know what it does—We’re underwater.”

“I don't know how.” Law scowls, the realisation sobering him quickly.

He opens and closes his hand, tries to force the light to recede. As if to taunt him, it grows instead until it ensnares his wrist, casting a red glow across his abdomen, on the sharp jut of his hip bones.

“What if you sit on your hand?”

“Are you sure you’re okay, captain?”

“That looks like it hurts!”

“Captain —”

“I’m _ fine!” _ Law snaps, frustration festering, giving fuel to fury. Try as he might, the light refuses to go out. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know what he did, I don’t know if he’s after us. Everyone just, I — be quiet!”

He flings a hand out as he yells those words unthinkingly, just to emphasize his point. He doesn’t expect anything to happen when he does this, but as Penguin steps forward, holding out his hands placatingly, something does happen.

The pale pink hue blooms from the tips of his fingers, ensnaring his arm almost completely before spreading out and hitting Penguin square in the chest. And Penguin, with his mouth still hanging open in lieu of a shocked shout, goes impossibly still.

Law pulls his hand back, like it’s been burned. Penguin turns grey, petrified, and then he’s…

He’s…

Shachi screams, because Penguin’s been turned to stone.

* * *

He can’t reverse it.

Law thinks, tries remedies and ointments — even attempts to cut through the stone to see if Penguin was simply trapped underneath it. Nothing works. Somehow, he’s used this power to attack one of his best — only — friends, and there’s no guarantee that he’s still even alive.

It takes Law three days of self-imposed isolation and sleepless nights racking his brain, but eventually he identifies his devil fruit. They’re marooned by a small merchant island, and it’s there that he finally finds a book that describes every devil fruit the seas have known. After that, it doesn’t take very long.

The fruit Doflamingo fed him was the Mero Mero no Mi — a paramecia type fruit that had thought to be lost for good, because no one wielding its powers has surfaced in decades. It’s known as the love fruit.

Lust, to be specific.

The book he bought is old and worn, its pages thin and the ink on it faded to the point where some parts of the text are impossible to read. The part describing reversing the fruit’s powers is one of them.

All the while, Penguin’s stone form stands by him, his eyes unseeing as they keep a vigil watch over Law. Shachi offered to move him out of the infirmary, but Law had refused him. It wouldn’t be right to stuff his nakama into some closet while Law still breathed, walked, talked — you know, things people who have been turned to fucking _ stone _ can’t do.

So, Law sits there, waits. No matter how hard he hopes, standing by this statue that used to be his comrade doesn’t change things — Penguin doesn’t mysteriously turn back to human.

Minutes tick by. Hours.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Penguin, once the light shining through the Tang’s windows has dimmed to dusk. “I need some air.”

Penguin, unsurprisingly, gives no reply. Law leaves. He climbs up to the deck, leaning against the balustrade. The sea is still, and the wind carries spindrift and salt, like a warm caress against Law’s cheek.

The warm breeze is twisted by his imagination, mangled by his mind, and suddenly the wind’s touch turns to Doflamingo’s hand brushing against the side of his face. It’s like he’s chained up again, glowering at the man who killed Rocinante. It’s like he’s back there.

Law tightens his grip on the railing, the metal digging into his palms, and clenches his eyes shut. He hears the waves lap against the sides of the Polar Tang invitingly.

If he died, his power would lose its hold on Penguin, right?

A heavy paw lands on Law’s shoulder, and Law definitely doesn’t startle at the touch. He definitely doesn’t. When he turns, Bepo stands behind him, his brown eyes welling with concern.

“Captain? Are you all right?”

_ Yes__,_ Law is about to lie, _ yes._ He’s _ fine. _ There’s no need to ask. But Bepo looks at him with sincere, genuine worry, and Law bites back the words. He hangs his head, slowly loosens his grip on the railing.

“I don’t know how to turn him back.” The words ring like a confession, an admission of guilt, and saying them feels like flogging his own back. “Penguin-ya. I don’t know.”

Bepo says nothing for a moment, but there’s a crease between his furry brows, a wrinkle above his nose. "Captain, I… I'm not the one you should be telling this."

Law glances up. "What?"

“Have you tried talking to him?” His first mate asks. "You should, maybe. Sorry, I shouldn't push you, sorry."

"It's fine." Law sighs. "You know he can't hear me, right? We don't even know he's alive."

"He is. I think."

"You _ think." _

Bepo flusters visibly, pulling his hand from Law's shoulder quickly. "Sorry."

Law waves off the needless apologies. He feels like he’s the one who should be sorry for acting like a dick, but his mouth refuses to open. Instead, he settles on clapping his friend on the shoulder gently before leaving.

He goes to Penguin, then, Bepo’s words ringing in his ears, setting the tempo for each step he takes. Unsurprisingly, the boulder that used to be his nakama is still there, still petrified in the middle of the room. Law stops at the threshold, shakes his head in disbelief. Is he seriously considering it; speaking to a piece of rock? Because that's all that remains of Penguin — x-rays and lab results show no bones, no muscles, no sinew; only minerals. Aluminum, iron, calcium, sodium, potassium, magnesium. That's all that remains. Penguin is not in there.

And yet, Law's legs carry him toward the statue. 

“Penguin.” The word flays his throat as he says it. “I’m sorry.”

He touches the stone reverently, cautious. Simply brushing his finger against the cold rock one makes a shiver run up his spine, makes him want to step back. This is stupid.

And yet, his mouth moves.

“Turn back. _ Please. _”

Nothing happens. Law stares at the statue, half-hoping that this is it. Nothing does. Law pulls his hand back like it was burned, wiping it on his jeans.

"Stupid! Fucking stupid, _ fuck!" _ He turns back quickly, punching the statue. "Fucking turn back so I can kill you properly, piece of _ shit!" _

He punches the stone until his knuckles burst and bleed, and then slumps against it, shoulders heaving with effort.

“Please,” he whispers. He feels pathetic. He’s a captain who killed a member of his own crew. He _ is _ pathetic.

And then, the stone cracks.

Law is almost startled enough by the sound that he jerks back, but some instinct forces him to still. "Wha—?" he gasps, eyes wide. The stone cracks a bit more, and that's skin underneath, that's a human.

That's _ Penguin. _

Law focuses, surgeon's precision. He forces the image of Penguin in flesh and blood to the forefront of his mind. This feels like a dream. This can't be working. His mouth moves mechanically as he says,

“I want to reverse this.”

Something tugs inside him at that. The boulder shifts, large cracks forming on its surface, melting away. Rock turns to ribs and retinas in front of Law, underneath his fingertips, and the pink light is back, surrounding Penguin as he breathes again.

Penguin coughs, and he’s back. Law feels a pressure behind his nose, a burning in his eyes. He hopes this isn’t a dream.

Penguin startles, noticing his captain practically hanging around his neck. He doesn’t push Law away, though. “Boss? Whoa, I must have fallen asleep. What’s going on? You needed to get your cuddle on?”

Law straightens his back awkwardly, pulling away from Penguin. He coughs, rubs the back of his neck. “Um, yes. You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“I—” Law forces himself to look at Penguin, to really take in the flush on his cheeks, the mess of his hair, the stains on his overalls. He inhales deeply. “I turned you to stone with my devil fruit. It was an accident. I apologise.”

Penguin blinks in surprise, and he looks down at himself, pats his arms and legs in wonder. It’s then that Law notices a small scrape by his collarbone — the spot he cut on the stone statue to get a sample of it. Guilt floods him, and Law has a hard time staying afloat.

“That’s weird. I don’t remember any of that. I must have gotten knocked out or something,” Penguin says nonchalantly.

He’s acting so frustratingly normal, Law doesn’t know how to handle it. So, he doesn’t.

He checks Penguin over, and finds nothing wrong with him — aside from some fatigue, and the small cut. The exam is robotic, his body working on its own volition, relying on muscle memory more than conscious thought.

Penguin tries to talk to him, ask him about what he’s missed, how they turned him back, if they know what the devil fruit was. Law replies curtly, words clipped and cold, and Penguin gives up on conversation soon enough. The absence of talk leaves a hole filled by an uncomfortable tension; the silence far louder than any shout.

“I’m sorry,” Law says again, at the end of the examination. The words come out stiff, tone aloof.

Law can see Penguin’s brow crease slightly, eyes sharp and curious. “About what? You got me back, didn’t you? It was an accident.”

“It still happened because of my lack of control. I’ll improve.”

Penguin reaches to him, as though to pull him into a hug. When Law shrugs off his hand, Penguin looks almost devastated, pity sharpening the spear that keeps Law at bay. “Boss, I —” 

Law looks away. He clears his throat. “It’s been three days, Penguin-ya. You must be starving. Go get something from the galley.”

Penguin nods slowly, and Law watches him walk away. The infirmary door is heavy, and it closes too slowly to block out his crew’s first cries of joy.

Days pass in a blur after that. Law works without pause, purchasing mice from the island they’re still docked on, and turning them to stone and back to flesh on an endless loop. His entire body aches, and his eyes hurt from lack of sleep, but he presses on. Until he can control his power with perfect precision, he’s a risk to others.

Bepo forces him out the infirmary once a day — shoving his filthy ass into a shower, and then to the galley for rice and tea. Law eats the food that’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t taste it, doesn’t register the textures of it on his tongue. He stares ahead blankly, mind whirring around chemical compounds and possible future trials to further understand his devil fruit.

He does keep an eye on Penguin, though. There seem to be no permanent effects left from his days spent in stone. His bloodwork and tissue samples are completely normal, and he shows no sign of cognitive impairment even after being without oxygen for days.

All in all, Penguin is much the same — without the memories of the days he'd spent a statue, it’s easy for him to bounce back to their routine. Law watches him laugh with Ikkaku, and the pang of guilt is a lance up his spine, breaking through the indifference he’s carefully crafted into a shield.

Shachi fills his bowl with more rice and fish, and Law offers him a nod of thanks; a dismissal. Despite it, Shachi lingers, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“Captain?”

“Yes?” Law mutters in between reluctant mouthfuls.

“It’s just, I wanted to say…” Shachi’s eyes trail down to the rice grains stuck on Law’s collar, and he reaches to wipe them away. His mouth hangs open, and there’s a hunger in his expression, and — 

Law swats his hands away. He gets up, heart racing, and leaves without even touching his food. The infirmary welcomes him with open arms and pre-occupying tasks, and Law locks the door behind him.

The last time someone looked at him like that, they were turned to stone. He can’t let it happen again.

When Bepo knocks the next day, Law doesn’t answer the door.

“Captain, please. You’ll work better with a full stomach.”

He’s right, of course. But then Law thinks about his crew, their lewd jokes and horny minds, and he can’t do it. He can’t go outside, not until he gets a grip on this fucked up ability of his. It’s not like isolation is anything new to him, either. After weeks spent alone in that cell, it’s almost harrowing how easy it is to slip back into the darkness.

So, he works. Hours blend together, and Law is on the verge of running out of mice. As far as he knows, mice don’t feel sexual attraction to humans, so he’d bought some sort of a weird pheromone mix. He ran out of that foul crap days ago, and yet, his power still works on the rodents. Not all of them have survived his experimentation; he’s down to five unlucky mice, all turned to stone.

Law stares at the last one he turned, fingers digging into his temples. “Turn back,” he orders the mouse. It doesn’t move a whisker. _ “ _ Turn back you useless damn— _ Fuck!” _

In a fit of frustration fuelled rage, Law smashes the stone mouse into the wall. It hits the ground with a resounding smack, where it joins several others. Law groans, and his head hits the desk.

There’s a knock on the door, then.

“Go away Bepo,” Law mumbles, his cheek squished against the table, muffling the words. “I’m fine. I’ll come out when I’m done.”

“I heard something crash.” That’s Penguin’s voice. Shit.

“I already told you that everything is fine.”

“Okay.”

A moment passes, long enough that Law begins to think Penguin’s left him alone. Alas, almost a full minute later, his friend’s voice calls out to him again.

“Law, we need to talk about it, really —”

“No,” Law interjects, jerkily. “No, we don’t. I’ll work on my cont—”

“Yeah, you mentioned. But c’mon, boss! You know none of us give a shit about your control. What happened, I—” Penguin pauses on the other side of the door, and sighs, “This isn’t healthy. You need to come out. You need to eat.”

Law shrugs, though he knows Penguin can’t see it. “I’ll grab something later.”

“Sure you will.” Silence, for a moment. Then, “Shachi made stew.”

Law snorts out a small laugh. “Is that supposed to lure me in or keep me away?”

“Whichever, I guess. But we don’t —”

Something thuds against the door, and Law knows Penguin’s sitting with his back against it. His eyes drift to the shattered mouse, and he stays where he is.

“This is stupid. _ You’re _being stupid. Just come out, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Law gives him no reply, because he’s not sure his voice would be steady enough for words. Long minutes pass, and Law begins to hear a weird scratching sound coming from the door. The door is heavy and metallic, so he doesn’t know what the hell Penguin thinks he’s doing out there. Before he can ask, the lock clicks. But the door doesn’t open.

“What are you doing?” Law asks sharply, finally sitting upright.

It’s Shachi who replies to him, which is fun because Law had no idea he was listening, too. “We figured you weren’t coming out on your own, not since you freaked out yesterday. And, to be honest, the isolation act is so out of style, Boss.”

“Yeah,” Penguin agrees. “So we’re gonna come inside now, if that’s all the same to you.”

Mutiny. This is what mutiny feels like. Law gets up from the chair, walks over to his sword, fully intending on threatening his nakama to leave with its sharp, gleaming edge. It works pretty well about ninety nine point nine percent of the time.

This time must fall into the remaining zero point one percent, however. When the door creaks open and reveals his crewmates, Penguin and Shachi see Kikoku but show no sign of being cowed by it.

“Captain,” Penguin greets, somewhat awkwardly.

“Leave.”

“Nah.”

His crewmates step into the room. Their stride remains slow and measured, like they’re approaching a scared animal instead of a pirate captain. Law shifts away from them, his hunched shoulders hiding his face from view.

“I said, _ get out. _Captain’s orders.”

Shachi and Penguin share a look. “Listen,” Penguin starts, which is ironic because they’re certainly not listening to Law at all. “Uh, I don’t really know what’s going on in your weird evil genius brain of yours, but this isn’t helping anyone.”

“Yeah,” Shachi agrees. “We miss you, captain. Ikkaku has been searching for information on controlling devil fruits, and she thinks she’s found something. Get this: there’s some guy who used to be in the same crew as Red Hair, and he’s got a really hard devil fruit to control. We can go ask Red Hair to get us in touch with him! He might be able to help.”

“You wish to contact a Yonko, only days after I escaped from a fucking _ Shichibukai’s _base?” Law spits out, the words more acidic than his intent. “Are you insane?”

“Well, not right away, you know. But someday, maybe?”

Law rubs his temples. “This isn’t a problem for you to solve. It’s mine, and while I appreciate the gesture, I think it is best for you two to leave.”

“But, captain —”

“No.” Law levels a look at his friends, his crew. He looks away quickly. “I hurt you. Until I can control this power, I don’t believe it’s safe for you to stay here.”

Penguin shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your power works only when someone finds you attractive, right?” Penguin questions, then trails off uncertainly, looking to Shachi for help.

“Yes,” Law replies, hesitant.

“Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but there must have been something wrong with Pen’s brain even before he got stoned,” Shachi continues helpfully.

Law turns to Penguin, looking him over with reserved concern, a clinical eye. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I think I must have been temporarily insane,” Penguin remarks lightly. “Because if it really works only when someone wants to bone you, then I must have been crazy.”

Shachi snorts. “Yeah, Boss. You’re like, unfuckable.”

Penguin nods with the utmost seriousness. “Truly.”

“I mean, the bags under your eyes have bags under them.”

“You look like a broomstick fucked an even thinner broomstick, and nine months later you came out.”

“Or a broomstick fucked a toothpick.”

“Yeah!”

Law feels his brows knit together lightly as he narrows his eyes. He says nothing, and Shachi and Penguin share a nervous look.

Shachi chuckles. “Seriously, this too? Hiding in a cupboard the second something goes wrong and you can’t immediately fix it? Totally not sexy.”

“Maybe we should find you a therapist. I’m sure there’s someone on land we could borrow for however long it’ll take to fix—” Shachi gestures vaguely in Law’s direction _ “—this.” _

“So we might as well just keep them here forever, huh? New nakama! Or, new kidnapping victim? New prisoner?” Penguin scratches his head. “The line is blurry.”

Law sighs, and sheathes Kikoku again, setting the sword aside. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Your point?”

Shachi grins weakly. “Not getting it, huh? I’ll spell it out to you.”

He walks over to Law, rests his hand on the chair his captain is sitting on. “We are not afraid of you, Boss.”

Law strains to keep from pulling away, even though Shachi isn’t touching him. Just the closeness is enough to make his chest feel tight, and suddenly he finds himself wondering when he last slept, or when he last spoke with his crew without shying away or giving half-a-word answers.

He misses them, he realises, and it must show on his face because Shachi is smiling. Penguin’s next to them now, the look on his face unreadable. He stares at Law for a long moment, and then grins.

“Law, you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Law chokes out. 

“Stop being an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

And when Penguin holds out a hand, Law takes it, and he lets them lead him out of the infirmary. Lets them lead him back to his crew.

Things get better slowly, after that. He gradually learns how to control his power, though it’s hard. It seems to be very much tethered to his emotions, and he’s never been too great controlling those. But he gets closer, day by day.

When he snapped at Ikkaku the other day, he’d been wearing his shirt open, exposing the tattoo on his chest, and Ikkaku’s eyes had trailed down. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to blink before half of her face had been turned to stone. Law had sighed, buttoned up his shirt, and turned her back to flesh and blood.

She’d punched him for it — _ hard — _but it was out of principle rather than genuine ire.

His crew still makes stupid, horny jokes, and Law can now roll his eyes at them without fear of putting them in danger. The devil fruit Doflamingo fed him doesn’t rule him, now, and it almost feels normal.

They still call him boss, even when he literally and figuratively petrifies them on a semi-regular basis. They still follow him, and they have his back when he loses control. He learns to rely on them, slowly, and over time he learns to rely on his devil fruit, too. Turns out a lot of marines and rival pirates can be attracted to a guy who looks like a hungover toothpick, and that’s their undoing.

Slowly, he starts to heal from the time when the only family he had was a man of shadows and another of smoke. They keep sailing, gaining a name for themselves. Sabaody Archipelago awaits somewhere beyond the all-encompassing blues, and beyond that, the New World.

There’s a lot to be done; havoc to wreak, people to seduce, enemies to turn to stone.

Law can hardly wait. He is, after all, a stone cold killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [m_rosenkov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_rosenkov/works/) for betaing, existing, breathing... everything. you're the best. thanks also to [smartie](https://twitter.com/Smartie_ya/) for creating the au and letting me write for it, and to [omu](https://twitter.com/Omu_3d2y/) for bringing it to my attention.
> 
> i'll post a chapter sometime later, who knows. i'd promise a quick update but looking at my old wips we'd all know i was lyin.
> 
> [tumblr](http://shishiswordsman.tumblr.com/) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/shishiswordsman)


	2. a handful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: I guess you could call Luffy's AU df body horror?? But it's just, Robin's power weirdness. No general warnings.

**9 years later, on an island in the first half of the Grand Line** ****

_ Clink. _

Metal against metal. Cold, worn. A thin layer of grease and grime coating their surface.

_ Clink. _

The coins’ indents are a familiar pressure against the pads of Law’s fingers. They tell him stories about their backgrounds without him having to look at them; he can feel the insignia of T’sua, a western trading port—a bloodied eagle printed on the backs of the coins. They’ll fetch a good price, should he ever sell them, because he would never be as foolish as the shopkeeper on this shoddy island. Selling the whole stack of them for simply two hundred beri? He should laugh.

“Captain?”

Shachi startles Law from his thoughts. It’s probably for the best, too, because the shopkeeper seems unnerved by the smile that’s found its way to Law’s face. Law fixes his expression into a mask of neutrality, nodding. “Coming.”

“You better be.” Shachi’s voice comes from further away than Law expected it to. “If I knew you’d just be looking at pieces of metal all day, I’d have gone on my own.”

“As far as I can recall, you were the one who insisted on following me,” Law says, more to the coins than to his crewmate.

With a roll of his eyes, Law sets the rare West Blue beris back in their display case, and follows Shachi into the maze of convoluted, narrow streets. According to Ikkaku’s books, the island is called Water Seven. The air is heavy with the lingering scent of sea salt and moisture left over from a dangerous storm—the Agua Laguna, the books had called it.

The lingering humidity glues Law’s bangs to his forehead, makes his jeans stick to his skin and his shirt cling to the sharp lines of his collar bones. The Polar Tang has air conditioning and a dehumidifier, and enjoying their hum and thrum is so tempting a thought that Law almost turns back. Yet, he refrains; it’s been a while since they’ve last stopped anywhere with half decent shops, and the shelves of both his fridge and medicine cabinet are beginning to get alarmingly empty. Food and medicine, unlike coins, are something he cannot walk past. Taking care of his crew is a priority.

The island’s centre is not too shabby looking, really—the harbour they’d marooned on had been in far worse shape. Like a tornado had torn through the place, it was in disrepair—ironic for the home of carpenters—houses torn from their roots, shrapnel and splinters of wood scattered here and there. The storm must have hit the port the hardest. Although, Law swears he’d seen the imprint of someone’s fist in a thick metal door, and not that it’s any of his concern, but last he checked tidal waves don’t have knuckles.

It’s evident that something more than a storm has passed through Water Seven.

Shachi walks a few paces ahead, wading confidently through people gathered on the streets, the crowd parting like waves where he walks. Not for Shachi, they both know, but for the man who walks behind him.

Law sees people looking at him, and he knows his reputation has preceded him. He’s mostly left alone, save for a few wolf whistles and catcalls. Those are quickly replaced by panicked cries as the hacklers’ tongues turn to stone in their mouths.

“C’mon, Boss,” Shachi tells him over his shoulder. “Focus. We can play later.”

“Aye.” Law frowns. Inhales slowly.

Gravel shifts beneath his feet, though the soles of his shoes are too thick for him to feel it. He holds Kikoku horizontally, the red strings almost brushing against wet soil. He takes up more space like that. More breathing room.

Shachi’s red hair is an easy enough landmark to follow, so Law allows himself to focus on the crowd, passively taking in the details of the city surrounding him.

No sight of Doflamingo’s men. Good.

The Joker’s men have been sighted prowling the area, as of late. It might be a complete coincidence, or something far less innocuous—there’s no way of knowing, and that has Law on edge. To the point where he actually went through the trouble of _ acquiring _one of Doflamingo’s cronies, tied him to a chair, and turned every part of his body methodically into stone until the man no longer had a tongue to spew lies with.

So Law continues to hang on the edge, one foot hovering over it. And his crew is a thistle tangled on the folds of Law’s soul, never more than a few steps away—too close to the crossfire, impossible to shake.

Shachi glances back to Law from over his shoulder, brows furrowed.

Law’s pretty sure Uni’s following them. He’s never been the most discreet of spies.

They find nearly all of the supplies easily; gauze and medicine and IV tubing fill their bags and empty their wallets, and by the time they’re about to leave, there’s only one more item on Law’s list. Northern deep-sea eel—indigenous to the coldest parts of the North Blue, the eel is a rarity—sold only in Water 7 during the storm season, and even then the price is insanely high. It’s a rare delicacy; something chefs on all seas would kill to cook. But Law has no plans of eating it.

If prepared just right, the oils underneath the skin can be extracted and refined into an extremely valuable ingredient for pain relief. Works wonders for beauty sleep remedies, too.

Law will spend the rest of the evening skinning the eel and peeling the oil carefully from its subcutis. It’s very time sensitive work, but time is something they have in spades now, trapped for a week until the log pose settles.

The fisherman who sells the eel isn’t big on advertising his business, and it takes Law and Shachi ages to find it. It’s a moderately big place, and Law wishes to waste no time searching through all the containers for what he needs.

When they ask the fisherman to guide them to what they want, Law entertains the thought of hustling the man for all he’s worth. It would be easy, that much is for certain—the fisher’s gaze lingers on the curve of Law’s jaw, on his slender arms, and then trails down. The look in the man’s eyes is hungry, for lack of a better term, and Law knows exactly how to handle people like him. There’s yet to be a hunger he can’t sate.

The fisherman stumbles over his words as he explains that Law’s in luck, they only got one shipment of the eel this month, and it’s almost all gone. Only one parcel remains.

“Good thing I rushed you, right?” Shachi says jokingly. He’s walking backwards to the cooler the eel is supposed to be in. Law doesn’t follow—there’s no need. He already knows the ingredient he requires is no longer in there.

Fuck.

A man with blond hair swept over half his face holds the package in his hand, turning it around to inspect its quality before adding it to a basket he carries. He takes a drag of the cigarette between his teeth, blows out a slow puff of smoke.

A woman’s voice carries from the miniature den den mushi in his hand.

“Sanji! Are you getting back soon?”

The man clicks his tongue, replies, “Yes, yes. I’m getting some last ingredients for supper, but it shouldn’t take long. Luffy said—”

Supper. 

The man intends to eat Law’s evening plans. That just won’t do.

With a quick stride, Law marches over to the man, snatches the eel from the basket he carries, and walks back to the register—or, he tries to. The man grabs a hold of the hem of his shirt, and his grip is actually strong enough to stop Law in his tracks. Impressive.

“Hold on a second, Nami,” the blond says sweetly, the den den mushi still held tightly in his hand. His tone is considerably harsher when he addresses Law. “What’s your problem, asshole?”

Law turns around to face the man, and sees the exact moment realisation and recognition click. The man freezes, hesitates for a passing second—just long enough for Law to yank his shirt free from his hand.

“You’re…” the man mutters, astounded.

“I am. Get out of my way," Law says, words cold.

The blond scoffs, shaking off his shock. Anger builds. It would probably be somewhat threatening, weren’t the guy still so obviously blushing. "Whatever, shithead. Doesn’t matter who you are. I need that."

"I have better uses for this than cooking it."

The man’s face twitches, as if he’s insulted. “There’s no better purpose for food than cooking and serving it. This is mine.”

Law narrows his eyes. “I didn’t see you paying for it, which means it doesn’t belong to you. Now, find something else to eat tonight. I won’t repeat myself.”

The man leans forward, face marred with a scowl. “You know what, fuck off! Before I run my shoe right through your pretty—"

Law’s done being nice. He leans into the blond’s space, tipping his head down so that his bangs fall over his eyes, casting a shadow on the upper half of his face. He keeps his voice low, hushed. “You sure you don’t want to, just… give it to me?”

The man’s cigarette falls from his lips to the ground, a bit of ash landing on his collar, embers on his tie. He gapes at Law, a trickle of red falls from his nose to his chin. Then, the man jerks, as if coming back to himself.

“What did you_ —fuck!” _ He shakes his head. “No, no. My captain requested eel, and Robin-chwan wanted it too, so that’s what I’m serving!”

Law shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He points a hand at the man, carefully tucking his fingers against his palm so that only his thumb and forefinger are extended. He aims his finger to the man, smiles, and fires.

The man’s eyes widen in shock, and then he can’t move, can’t talk. Law blows a kiss, and the man turns to stone where he stands.

“SANJI! What is happening over there, what—” A woman’s voice carries from the snail phone. Law almost feels bad for the person the petrified man had been speaking to—maybe a sister, a friend, even a wife?

Not that it matters. Law smirks as he takes the eel from the blond’s now petrified hand.

“Bang,” Shachi says behind him, tone light. He pretends to blow smoke from the tip of his extended forefinger, and Law smirks.

“He wishes,” Law replies casually. Law shoves a random handful of beris on the counter, ignoring the horrified fisherman. He gives the eel to Shachi, gesturing for him to follow. “Let’s head back. We’re done here.”

When he leaves, he doesn't look back.

* * *

The Polar Tang’s engine is like soothing white noise to Law’s ears. It sounds like home by now, after years of sailing underwater surrounded by the Tang’s metal walls. When they’d first gotten the ship, Law had been unable to sleep on it—the hum of the machinery was a disturbance where now, it’s a comfort. Law barely even hears it anymore. Hunched over where he is, it almost helps him focus.

The eel fucking stinks.

He’s covered the lower half of his face with a surgical mask doused in vinegar, but it does nothing to help his watering eyes. He breathes through his mouth. His senses will grow numb to the stench soon.

His crew might not be as adaptive, though. The other Pirates of Heart—or those that are able to withstand the stink to use the dining area for wild and unconventional purposes like, you know, _ eating— _aren’t as easily ignored as the engine, either.

Clione sits in a chair by the door, stitching a hole in his boiler suit with a look of great disgust on his face. He’d ripped it earlier in a not-so-friendly sparring match with Uni, who’d torn him several new ones for some nonsensical drama Law’s not inclined to familiarise himself with. A crew of twenty trapped in the close quarters of a submarine rarely leads to anything peaceful.

Penguin lounges in one of the chairs in the furthest corner of the galley, a clothespin pinching his nostrils hard enough that his nose has turned a bright red. Uni had escaped into the control room as soon as Law had peeled the eel from its paper wrapping, but Ikkaku still remains, sitting next to her captain with a book and a bottle of sake. She seems relatively unbothered.

“Man, I’m trying to serve something edible here,” Shachi gripes from the kitchen for the hundredth time in an hour. He’s made it a point to hold onto his nose and breathing through his mouth loudly in protest. Law makes it a point to systematically ignore him. “Can’t you do that in the infirmary—you know, where the medicine lives?” 

In truth, Law’s not sure whether the smell of the eel is the reason why Shachi’s cooking is inedible, but telling him as much had earned him nothing but violence and crocodile tears. Law sticks to his craft, and peels the skin off an eel. “The galley has more natural light.”

Ikkaku snorts. “The infirmary has more light than the goddamn sun. Just admit that you feel lonely, or something.”

Law quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Thought as much.” She laughs. “You’re a loser, captain.”

Law huffs. “Fuck you, too. Go bother someone else.”

“Aye aye.” She nods along, claps Law on the shoulder casually, “Don’t have to tell me twice to get away from that garbage fish.”

“This _ garbage fish _is the most powerful anodyne this side of the Red Line.” Law wipes his scalpel on a cloth, watches the yellow slime soak into the fabric. It is pretty disgusting. But necessary. “You won’t be thinking that when you’re in pain and in need of it.”

“Sure as hell think it now, though,” Penguin cuts in. Law tilts his chin down, smiling.

His crew is the worst, truly.

He continues to flay the eel, putting one slice under the microscope to make sure it’s still usable. With satisfaction, he seals the slices he already has into neatly organised packages, where they’ll wait until he can mix them into medicine. He could focus on this for hours; methodically dissecting and labelling ingredients that will help his crew in the future.

He could, that is. It’s just too bad he’s not given the chance.

Out of nowhere, something heavy hits the roof of the Polar Tang, jolting the entire submarine. Ikkaku stands up. “What the hell was th—”

She’s cut off by another, louder thud. Another, after that.

Law meets eyes with Penguin, quirking a brow in question.

“If that’s some huge bird crap again, I won’t clean it up,” Penguin jests, winks at Law. “That’s gonna smell even worse than Captain’s little doomsday project here.”

“Take this seriously, shit head!” Ikkaku snaps at him, eyes narrowed and sword drawn.

She’s new to the crew, and fails to see through Penguin’s levity. Her and Uni only joined the Hearts a month ago, on an isolated island they’d landed on after weeks stuck at sea. They’d been captives in a fighting ring—their day to day survival merely entertainment for the island’s nobility. Law’d taken one look at them—bodies on display, pieces of meat to slaughter or be slaughtered. Not many who know what happened on the island are alive to tell the tale of what he’d done there, caught in a fit of rage.

She’ll never have to fear like that again. Over Law’s dead body.

“Penguin-ya, go check it out. Make them stop being so fucking loud.”

“You go check it out! You’re the captain!”

"This is time sensitive work. I can’t.”

“Captain!” Bepo bursts into the galley, his fur still wet from the bath he’d been taking. “We’re under attack! Someone’s trying to break in!”

Law nods, gestures for Bepo to join him by the table. He runs his fingers casually through his first mate’s fur, hoping it’s reassuring. “Yes, we noticed. Pen?”

Penguin groans and yells for someone else to go check it out. Clione leaves with a curt nod.

Moments later, they hear the door to the deck open, followed by muffled yelling. Law hadn’t expected an attack on an island like this, one that’s still healing from a natural disaster. But perhaps the bright yellow of the Tang has lured someone in. Someone opportunistic and suicidal.

Law hears Clione argue with someone, but can’t make out the words. He does, however, make out the sound of flesh smacking into flesh, and he definitely notices when Clione flies through the galley door, head first. He lands in a heap on one of the tables, rubbing his head in pain. Blood gushes—head wound, temple gnashed against the table’s lip.

The door is blown off its hinges—Law is on his feet with his sword drawn within seconds, his crewmen mirroring his defensive stance—and for a moment all Law can see are swirls of dust—they really need to clean the sub sometime soon, Law realises with badly timed distaste—and two shapes.

Two attackers.

When the dust dust begins to settle, he can discern more than just silhouettes past the plumes. Law blinks, hardly believing his eyes.

In the doorway stands a young man—maybe fifteen or sixteen. He’s wrapped from head to toe in thick layers of gauze, with a banged up, too-big straw hat on his head, and a band-aid on his nose. Next to him, a slightly banged up stone statue.

A kid and a lump of stone. Law’s shoulders sag minutely, but he doesn’t sheathe his sword. He’s sailed in Paradise long enough to know better than to lower Kikoku just yet.

Just some brat, though. It’s almost disappointing.

“I don’t run a day-care,” Law says. “Scram.”

“You hurt Sanji!” The decidedly less statuesque attacker yells. “Fix this! It’s almost dinner time.”

“Oh.” Law takes a closer look at the stone sculpture, recognising the eel thief from earlier. He did turn a man to stone back at the marketplace, didn’t he? “Yes, I remember him.”

“Turn him back!” the intruder snarls. A bandage stuck to his forehead peels away at the corners, and the kid tears it off, tosses it to the ground. The wound underneath it is gruesome. “Turn Sanji back or I’ll kick your ass!”

False bravado, Law’s logical side decides. A different part of him is aflutter with something close to unease, but Law shoves that down, ignores it.

Ikkaku leans on her sword, and she lets out a laugh. “Listen, kid. Your friend got in my captain’s way, and it was a gamble he lost. If you’re smart, you’ll leave while you still can.”

“I’ll leave once you give back Sanji.” The young man’s hands bunch into fists at his sides, and he looks to the ground briefly. When he casts his eyes back up, his irises are almost overtaken by his pupils, blown wide with rage. “We can’t keep sailing without the whole crew. I need Sanji back.”

The way he speaks the words suggests finality, makes Law think the man must be used to powerful people—the messenger for someone stronger, an errand boy.

Again, that silenced part of him whispers to Law, tells him he’s wrong. He stomps it down, huffs, says, “Go find your captain, bring him to me. Perhaps I’ll strike a deal with him.”

Something freezes in the galley’s air, growing stiff, unmoveable. The intruder gives a lopsided smile that fails to reach his eyes.

“I _ am _ his captain,” the man declares, and somehow Law believes him. “And I ain’t leaving. Now turn Sanji back, or I’m gonna destroy your weird ship and kick your ass.”

It’s unusual, to say the least; normally people are adequately deterred by Law’s reputation and don’t even try suicidal things like threatening the Heart Stealer.

Thing is, the kid doesn’t really look like a threat—far from it. Inveigling him into leaving shouldn’t be too hard, and if that fails he’s also a hormonal teenager, bound to be easily affected by Law’s devil fruit. Dragging their stone-cold corpses would be a hassle later on, sure, but at least the kid can’t yell so loudly with calcified vocal chords.

Law sighs, swipes his bangs away from his face. “Last chance. Leave now, or I’ll do to you what I did to your friend.”

“Bastard,” Straw Hat mutters. His hands clench into tight fists, and he takes a few steps toward Law. The strangest thing happens, then.

One second, Law is lifting his hand, aiming an arrow at the intruder. The next—well. Straw Hat shouts something, and then there’s a hand, wrapped around his neck. Another on his wrist, fingers digging into the side of his face.

Distantly, Law hears the muffled sounds of his crewmates’ struggles, catches a glimpse of Bepo in the corner of his eye. His first mate has hands pulling at his ears, others covering his eyes, two more holding Bepo’s paws behind his back, muscles bunching. It takes strength to immobilize a mink.

Oh, fuck. A finger pokes into Law’s nostril. That’s it. Law bristles, bites down hard on the hand covering his mouth, and swipes at the others with Kikoku. He moves quickly, sees a flash of red, a pained grunt, and then the hands are gone. He’s free, and a quick glance shows his nakama incapacitated but unharmed. Annoyed and alarmed, at most. They’re okay.

Law’s voice carries out, barely above a growl. “Okay, that fucking does it. Unhand my crew, now.”

“No!”

Law grimaces in anger, sparks of his power already circling his fingers. His devil fruit is infallible, unbeatable; he can turn den den mushis to stone with a look, can destroy armies with an open shirt and a blown kiss.

No matter what his power is, there’s no way this kid stands a chance against it.

The other pirate captain barely has enough time to realise what’s going to happen before it does. Law tucks his fore and middle fingers together, holds them out, aims at the intruder. From his fingertips blooms an arrow of pink, glowing light.

Much to Law’s surprise, the man lifts his arms up, as though to shield himself. “Crap! Not again!” he yells, eyebrows drawn high on his forehead. “I don’t want to be slow!”

Irrationality is not going to be enough to save him.

The arrow hits the intruder in the chest, right above his solar plexus, and then the strange pirate is enveloped in a mist of pink. When it fades, Law expects to see the intruder turned to stone. Expects to spend the next fifteen minutes dragging two statues out of his ship. Expects to soon see the splashes created from the two pirates falling into the sea, for droplets of water to hit his face.

But, because the universe clearly hates Law, none of that happens.

When the mist disappears, it reveals Straw Hat, completely unharmed. The teenager pats himself up and down, eyes wide as saucers, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Hey, I didn’t slow down! I’m okay! That’s good!”

Law finds he’s wearing a similar expression. No one has ever withstood his power and survived. How in the—

“How did you do that?” he questions, the words stiff as ice, scraping against his dry throat. He gathers himself quickly, schools his expression into a grim scowl. Some kind of trick. Must be. “Why did you not turn to stone?”

There’s a chance Law has slightly underestimated his opponent. His nakama are still in their attacker’s clutches, struggling against hands that bind them.

Straw Hat brushes himself off, walking closer to Law. He cocks his head to the side, looks at Law with confusion in his eyes. “Was that what was supposed to happen?”

Law bites at the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood. Fuck this. “Fine. I’ll turn your crewmate back.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks!” The teen pumps his fist in the air. His grin looks far too wide to fit his features. “So you are a good guy after all!”

“No such thing as a benevolent pirate. Now, free my crewmates before I change my mind—my power might not work on you, but I’m sure my sword will separate your head from your body quite nicely.”

“Sure, sure.”

Straw Hat waves his hand in the air. As he does that, the hands holding Law’s crew hostage disappear in an instant, and one by one his crew checks themselves over. None of them seem physically injured, though their pride will probably require some first aid.

“Captain!” Bepo cries out, “Why didn’t your power work?”

Law feels his face twitch in annoyance. He gestures sharply for his friend to be quiet, waits until Ikkaku and Penguin have helped Clione out of the galley until he speaks again. “Okay, kid. You should know th—"

“Stop calling me a kid!” the kid barks. His lips purse in anger, but this time Law can tell it’s not as raw or as bloodthirsty as it’d been before. This is lighter, more childish—almost petulant. The intruder huffs. “My name’s Luffy, and I’m going to be the king of pirates!”

“Trafalgar Law.” Law smirks. Can’t help it. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but that’d be a lie.”

“Whatever.” Luffy’s picking his nose. He glances to his side, and he must be suddenly reminded by his crew mate’s predicament, because he stands up straighter, moves with purpose. “Can you turn Sanji back now, Torao? I’m kinda hungry.”

“It’s Law.”

“What?”

Law narrows his eyes. “Trafalgar Law. My name.”

Luffy flicks the booger away. “Sure, Torao. Anyway, what are you doing here? Are you working with the government? I don’t like those guys.”

“Don’t insult me.” Law resists the urge to roll his eyes. He finally sheathes Kikoku, leaning against the wall. “Well, Straw Hat-ya, seems like we share the same goal. You’re on a pirate ship—and my crew is also heading to Raftel.”

Luffy’s hands bunch into fists, and his eyes narrow into slits. An angry flush spreads on the young man’s cheeks, his eyebrows lowering to frame the challenging glare he aims at Law. “You wish! I’m the one who’s gonna be Pirate King, so find a new goal!”

“Calm down. Don’t you have more urgent matters to concern yourself with?”

“Like leaving our ship!” Bepo chimes in, irate.

“Shut up! I’m gonna, once I get Sanji back!” Luffy snaps back.

Bepo takes a step back, his ears shifting nervously. “I’m sorry.”

To Law’s surprise, Luffy seems genuinely flustered by Bepo’s retreat. “Hey, Bear! I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry!”

As soon as he’s done yelling that, Law hears Bepo shriek, and he instantly regrets sheathing his sword.

He spins around to look at his first mate, upper lip curled around a snarled curse. All he sees is disembodied arms encircling Bepo. The mink looks down at his waist with a look of shock, but the hands don’t seem to be harming him—the opposite, really. One or two are rubbing the backs of his ears, some petting his fur, while others simply hold onto him in some weird mockery of a hug.

“What the fuck is your power?” Shachi asks beside Law, sounding mildly horrified.

Luffy snickers, and the hands disappear from Bepo’s body. “I ate the Hana Hana no Mi! I can grow body parts with it, like this!” And then Straw Hat’s face suddenly has five eyes, and two hands sprout from the top of his head like antlers. It’s disgusting.

“Cool, right?”

“Cool!” Bepo and Shachi shout, excited.

Law swallows, staring at the kid who now has an ear on his nose. Fighting him must be a fucking traumatizing experience. He clears his throat. “If I turn your friend back, will you leave?”

Luffy sobers, too, and gives a short nod. "Yea. Duh. But you better give Sanji back right now!”

“No reason to prolong this, then.” Law inhales, exhales. Closes his eyes slowly, and concentrates.

There’s a flash and the sound of cracking stone, shifting gravel, and then the stone statue Luffy’s been lugging around turns into the guy who tried to steal the deep-sea eel from under Law’s nose. The man—Sanji, was it?—falls to his knees, coughing harshly. Luffy checks him over with more enthusiasm than care, poking at his crewmember’s face and body without ceremony or gentleness. A pang of sympathy lances through Law as he watches Luffy pinch at Sanji’s ear, pulling on it until the skin there is a bright red. Maybe Sanji would have been better off as a statue.

“Sanji! You’re alive!” Luffy cheers, laughing.

“Of course I’m alive, I… Wait. What happened?” Sanji croaks, blinking in confusion. He jumps to his feet in a flash. “Luffy! What the hell is going on here!?”

“Nami told me you’d gotten hurt, so I went looking for you, and you were a statue! It was kind of cool, and then the fish guy told me you were in a fight with some guys in a weird ship, and this is the weirdest ship I could find, so I carried you here. You were super heavy as a rock! You’d have sunk if I dropped you in the ocean, just like me!”

Sanji looks at Straw Hat in bewilderment, shaking his head. It’s only when Luffy mentions Law and his crew, gesturing to them with wide arcs of several arms, that the blond turns to Law. In an instant, his stance lowers into something more offensive, his face adopting a mask of anger.

It’s almost imperceptible, but Law thinks he sees Sanji shift his weight so that Luffy’s left slightly behind him, shielded by his body.

Despite this, the next thing Sanji does is kick his captain into the ground. Hard. “Luffy, you idiot! That’s Heart Stealer; he’s a dangerous man! You can’t just go befriending every asshole you meet!”

“Torao’s not dangerous, Sanji,” Luffy says flatly, like he’s stating a fact. It’s not often that Law hears himself be called that—not dangerous. “I like him! Why would he be dangerous?”

“He can turn people to stone, shithead. It’s his power—how else did you think I was turned into a fucking stone statue?”

“Oh. I just thought you made him eat rocks or something.” Luffy flicks a booger from his finger, looks curiously at Law. “Can you really turn people to stone?”

Law clears his throat. “Yes. The fruit I ate allows me to do that.”

“Ah, so that’s what that beam thing was?” Luffy grins, the extra body parts disappearing in a flurry of bright red petals. “So you’re a stoner. Stoner-guy!”

“Do not call me that.” Law recoils. Maybe being called Torao is the lesser evil, here.

Luffy grins. Were he to open the dictionary at ‘cocky little shit’, Law imagines he’d find Luffy’s picture right in the start of that entry. “Got it, Torao.”

This fucking kid.

Luffy steeples his fingers behind his neck, casual. “Sanji! I’m hungry!”

Sanji scowls. “Yeah, yeah. We should get back, anyway.” He gives a goofy grin. “Nami must be so worried about me!”

Law shakes his head. What a hassle over some eel.

Shit, right. The eel. It’s definitely ruined by now, which is just fantastic; hours of painstaking work, all wasted. Great. Law groans, rubbing his temples with one hand, his thumb digging against the sharp jut of his brow. He shoves the plateful of eel away from himself, detesting the sight of it.

“Here,” he tells the cook. “You can have it, if you can still make use of it. It’s worthless to me now.”

Sanji examines the eel, and a stitch appears in his brow, his nose scrunching minutely at the smell. “I can use this,” he eventually says, stiffly. Law gets the feeling he’d be saying a lot more if Law didn’t have the literal power to turn him to stone.

“Take it, then,” he orders.

“Okay, awesome!” Luffy says happily, completely unaware of the tension. He claps his hands together—the fact that there are suddenly five pairs of hands to clap with startles Shachi out of his goddamn mind, and it’s hilarious—and whoops his enthusiasm. “Wow, this stinks! Thanks, Torao!”

And then he inhales the eel. That’s the only word Law can describe it with.

What a day.

“Luffy!” Sanji barks, “I was going to make sushi out of that!”

There’s a bit of eel hanging from the corner of Luffy’s lips, and he slurps the rest of it into his mouth, swallowing audibly. Luffy shrugs. “Whoops.”

Law’s so very ready to have his ship back to himself and his crew again. He swings Kikoku down from his shoulder in a move that’s far more flourish than threat. “You have your crewman back, now. Our transaction is complete as soon as you leave my ship, so get out.”

“Sure, yeah! We need to get back to the Sunny!” Luffy snickers, like it’s a funny joke. “I almost said Merry! I almost forgot!”

Beside him, Sanji sighs somewhat wistfully. “Yeah, I keep forgetting too. C’mon, captain. Let’s go.” He grabs Luffy by the collar of his shirt and begins dragging him to the door. “Guess I’ll be making roast for dinner, instead.”

“Yeah! Meat!” Luffy whoops, grinning from ear to ear as they leave.

Law follows them to the top deck—purely because he wants to make sure the intruders really get off his ship, he tells himself.

Before he hops off the ship, Luffy turns back. “Hey, Torao! Remember me, alright?”

“What?” Law replies, intelligently.

Luffy laughs. “I said, remember me! I want to fight you properly when we both get to Raftel, so you’d better be a lot stronger by then!”

Law smirks. “I’ll do my best.”

Luffy snickers some more, and he waves his hand in a wide arc at Law’s crew. “Bye Torao! Bye bear! You’re cool!”

“Bye, Luffy!” Law’s crewmates yell back. Bunch of traitors, the lot of them.

Law leans against the railing with Kikoku propped against his shoulder, his eyes glued on Luffy’s back as the younger pirate hops back onto dry land with ease, the cook falling into pace a few steps behind him. Sanji’s spouting invectives and raining rancour down his captain’s neck, but as far as Law can tell, the words lack any actual bite. Luffy laughs, and a disembodied arm sprouts from the ground, tripping Sanji on his nose.

Law huffs, watching Sanji chase Luffy further and further away.

He still finds it hard to believe that the scrawny teenager he’d just met leads a pirate crew of his own, but at the same time, the back of his mind tingles with a warning. Luffy is dangerous, and Law can feel it—the raw strength the younger captain wields.

“Bepo,” Law eventually speaks, a slight smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. His eyes never leave the shoreline where Straw Hat has now disappeared. Interest curls in his stomach, cloying between one thought and the next.

“What is it? We’re not going after them, are we?”

“No, I don't think we will.” Something akin to a plan—an idea, more like—is burrowing its way out of his subconsciousness. Law tugs the brim of his hat lower, smirking wider. “Get me a newspaper, would you? I’d like to take a look at recent bounty posters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we say the long break in posting was just en elaborate April Fools prank?
> 
> This chapter was betaed by [m_rosenkov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_rosenkov/works), who is my literal writing goals and who also writes about one piece, among others. I don't need to tell you twice to go peruse that good kush, right?
> 
> Also thanks to [omu](https://twitter.com/Yumenomu) for both being super supportive and kind, and also for reminding me I wrote this and then did the thing where i erase a fic from my memory the second it's completed and forget to post it for months on end. youre the best, bro
> 
> [tumblr](http://shishiswordsman.tumblr.com/) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/shishiswordsman)


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